Conflicted. . .

that is the word that best describes how I am feeling today.  In fact, it best describes how I've felt for a week or so now.  I know why, more or less.  My mat leave officially ends next week.  I say officially because I timed my leave with the start and end of classes; thus, I don't go back into the classroom until September as the Winter semester at CU ends April 11th.  My responsibilities to my departments will be relatively light: end of the year meetings, faculty development retreats, and evaluating transcripts.  I have to finish adapting one of my courses to teach as an on-line course, but I have much of that done already.  I have two essays I need to finish revising and submit, and my goal is to have both under review by August 15th.  But given all this, I don't expect much will change, at least not till exams are over.  So I have another six weeks or so in which I will primarily be a stay-at-home mom.  George is slated to go into daycare part-time sometime at the end of April or beginning of May, depending on when a spot is available. 

I know this is a great situation.  I know I've been really lucky this year.  I like my job, and I know I'll be happy once I go back to work.  But I'm still conflicted.  I didn't expect to like staying home as much as I do.  I haven't longed for "adult" conversations, the way so many people told me I would.  I've enjoyed making muffins with Bear and just hanging out with George.  I've liked meeting Wild Man at the bus stop almost every day and listening to him describe his day.  I've found a groove of sorts, and now I have to find a new groove, one that will be infinitely more complicated and focused on schedules--at least by September.

And on the other hand, it will be good to have more than 45 minutes at a time to work, to know my work time is my work time, and that my time with my  kids doesn't have to be so split.  I think I'd feel less conflicted if the last few weeks I hadn't been so focused on getting an essay done.  I've been writing in snatches, but most every free minute is devoted to trying to get this thing finished.  As I wrote before, it is slow going, which is frustrating.  I know I am ready to have time to focus on work.  But dropping George off at daycare the first day will be infinitely harder than it was to take Wild Man or Bear, and neither of those days were what I'd describe as easy.   

I do exist

I am still here.  Here are some random updates to prove that.

• Student loans suck.  I am paying mine back, but I failed to consolidate them when I could have last year.  (I was busy, you know, having a baby)  I went online to make my monthly payment but I couldn't find the loan.  Seriously. I typed in my info and no account showed up.  So I called and was told my loan had been sold to another company.  I have gotten nothing informing me of this.  Luckily I was able to get this figured out so that my payment wasn't late, but really.  These companies could make it easier on people trying to make payments.
• I have two weeks left on my mat leave.  I am not happy about this, but we are trying to figure this out.  I have emailed both chairs of the departments in which I am appointed to let them know I am available for meetings but will be primarily working from home.
• I am trying to finish a paper in my spare time (read: the time Archer can stop working to take care of George).  The work is slow going, but I am happy with the results.
• I could write more, but I'm tired.  Plus this has already turned into one of the most boring posts ever.

1,000 posts

A few weeks ago I reached 1,000 posts.  Yay me!

My grandfather

George and I visited my grandfather last week.  I'd like to say it was a lovely visit.  I'd like to say that George bonded with my grandfather.  I'd like to say I feel like the visit was worthwhile.  Unfortunately, I can't.  My grandfather is miserable.  He is exhausted.  He is lonely.  He is depressed.  He is ready to die.  I think he has been since my grandmother died in 2010.  I think I could handle all of that if he hadn't gotten mean, but alas, he is so unhappy to still be alive that he is unpleasant to be around.  That makes me really, really sad.

It takes a village

Archer is out of town for three days and two nights, which means I'm on my own with the boys.  I've had lots of help though.  Our lovely neighbor came by this morning to walk Wild Man to the bus stop, so I wouldn't have to take all three boys out at 7:20 in the morning.  She is doing the same thing tomorrow morning.  My good friends are picking Bear up at preschool this afternoon, so I don't have to drive across town again.  Then they are joining us for dinner.  This weekend I'm going out of town; I'm taking George to meet my grandfather, who is 88 and in really poor health.  Another good friend has offered to keep Wild Man and Bear, so they aren't in the car all day as Archer goes to and from Big City airport.  It definitely takes a village, and I'm glad we've found one in CU Land.

The fallout

It seems the fallout from last spring's drama at CU continues.  I've just been notified that unless I can get one of the two departments to agree to run the travel course I designed (which doesn't really fit in either department) I will be forced to return the money.  There are days when I seriously wonder if this is the place for us.

The baby I wasn't sure I wanted

In November 2011 I discovered I was pregnant.  We were not trying to get pregnant, and if I'm being completely, brutally honest, I'm still not sure how it happened.  I mean, I know how it happened, but the event, as it were, was brief.  It was, in fact, not even completed because, as I recall, Bear woke up screaming literally seconds after it had started.  Following an evening together, with a lovely dinner that Archer made for us and at least two bottles of wine, we had, apparently, done just enough.  Thus, I blame George's conception on one too many glasses of wine, a momentary lapse in judgement, and, well, fate. 

I was less than happy about being pregnant, as I wrote here.  I was, in fact, horrified. I cried for two weeks.  I called my best friend daily, who reassured me that I could manage.  That it would be okay.  That we could afford another baby.  That I had really wanted a third child but convinced myself that I didn't.  After three days of such phone calls, my friend said to me what I had been thinking but wouldn't allow myself to say outloud: "M, if the thought of another baby makes you this unhappy, you don't have to have it."  In that moment, my dear, lovely friend offered me what I couldn't, what I had refused to offer myself: the space to consider what my life would be like without this unexpected third child. 

I imagined life very much like it was: a good life, a happy life.  Working, parenting Bear and Wild Man, being with Archer, traveling.  I talked to Archer, who remained largely silent throughout my emotional turmoil.  I talked to my doctor.  I had bloodwork.  I did the research.  I talked with another dear, dear friend who had made the horrifying, gut-wrenching decision to end a pregnancy over a decade ago.  I made an appointment.  I knew Archer didn't want me to, but I couldn't see a future in which we weren't both so stressed out by work and by finances, struggling to be the parents we wanted to be but couldn't be because we were so constrained by time and by resources.  I couldn't see a happy ending.

Then, my wise, honest, loving friend, who had been through it before she had her children, said, "You will want to keep it a secret, but this is big.  You won't be able to keep it a secret forever.  Somehow, I think, Bear and Wild Man will find out, or perhaps you will want to tell them.  Can you explain it to them?  Can you answer their questions?"  I knew I couldn't.  More importantly, I knew I wouldn't be able to answer my own questions, to address my own what-ifs. I would never be able to believe that Archer, whom I know only wanted me to be happy and excited, had forgiven me. Twenty-four hours later I cancelled the appointment.

Now, well over a year later, George is six-months old.  He is a happy, blue-eyed, wiggly, giggly baby.  He has completed our family.  He is the piece we didn't know was missing. He has transformed each of us in big and small ways, even Wild Man and Bear, who are both more compassionate, a bit more patient, and so loving to him and each other.  Now, I look at him and I get emotional.  But not for the reasons you might think. 

I don't regret that period, that whole horrible, dreadful time when I wasn't sure I wanted him.  I realize now that was part of our journey, his and mine.  His unexpected arrival made me stronger, made me a better mother in many ways.  I'm more protective of my children now, of my time with them; I'm more empathetic and, perhaps, more understanding.  In those dreadful, dreadful weeks--and even in the emotional months after I decided to go through with the pregnancy--I realized that, despite all my fear and worry, I was fortunate enough to be in a position to go through with an unplanned pregnancy.  I don't take that good fortune for granted because not everyone has it.

In those gut-wrenching weeks, I learned firsthand,  something I had always suspected: choosing to end a pregnancy is not an easy decision.  It is not a decision that is made lightly.  It is agonizing and horrific and vomit-inducing.  Those of us who have been in such a position to contemplate such a decision, let alone make it, and go through with it judge ourselves harshly, perhaps daily for a long, long time.  But I know now, again as I always suspected, that sometimes that decision is what is right for that person at that time.  And the many, many women who have to make that decision, are not cowardly or desperate, nor are they cruel or emotionless, as so many people would have us believe.  They are brave.  That is what having George taught me.

A big deal

For the past ten days Bear has gone poop on the potty rather than in a pull-up.  This is a big deal in our house, a really big deal.

Productive, sort of

Last week and the weekend were productive for me.  I finished editing some essays for a project I'm working on.  I finally finished the introduction and first part of a paper I need to work on.  I ordered a bunch of books for another project, and I am in the process of submitting the receipts for those books (this is for the grant I was awarded last year).  I have read abstracts for a panel I'm proposing for a major conference in my field and am in the process of finalizing the proposal.  I'm trying to be productive today.  George, however, is teething and has a cold.  We've been up since 5:30 after being up several times throughout the night.  I need a nap, but every time I get George to sleep he wakes up.  I will now return to trying to be productive, and by that, I mean I'm going to put George in his activity center so I can watch The View.

Scattered

I'm writing this in an attempt to pull together my scattered thoughts.  I'm trying to work on a paper, but I'm thinking of the 18 other things I need to do while Archer is managing George.  My thoughts are scattered as I'm, mentally, somewhere between maternity leave and work.  I want to be working.  I want to write and compose course descriptions.  I want to put together a research grant so I can do some archival work this summer.  But I want to hang out with George, pick Wild Man up from the bus stop, and paint with Bear.  I want to make scones and stew, but I want to read and take notes too.  I want to stop thinking about home and try to focus on this task, but since I'm sitting in my home office, surrounded by crayon drawings, baby toys, and toy cars, I'm finding that a bit difficult.

Letting Go

I spoke with my dad today, very briefly.  I called my mom, and he asked to speak with me.  This is a rarity.  My dad and I tend to speak through my mom or through short emails.  For a moment, I was really happy my dad asked to talk to me.  I thought, "Hey, maybe some of the conversations we had over the holidays had an affect."  Then he said, "I just wanted to ask what Archer wants for his birthday.  You haven't told me anything yet."  I sighed and said, "I'll get him to email you, Dad.  Thanks for thinking of him."  He then said good-bye and passed the phone back to my mom.  Every January, my father repeatedly asks what Archer wants for his birthday.  It starts on Christmas Day and continues until Archer's birthday, sometimes well after.  I usually manage to come up with something--a book, a CD, a sweater.  I am always, however, hurt by my father's intense preoccupation with Archer's birthday.  You see, my dad never asks me what I want for my birthday, nor does he take part in any gift my mom sends me; similarly, he never asks the boys what they might want for their birthdays or for Christmas.  So as thoughtful as my dad is being of Archer, he seemingly forgets me and his grandsons on our birthdays.   

I am officially letting go of my feelings of disappointment and hurt.  My dad loves my husband.  I can't let that bother me.  I choose to be happy that he cares about my husband.  I know myself well enough to know that I will still struggle with this, but I will try.

Confessions of a Skinny Girl

I am a "skinny girl," whatever that means.*  I'm 5'3" and weigh about 108 pounds.  I've never been on a diet, not even after having my children. In fact, five months after giving birth to my third child I am back in my pre-pregnancy clothes with little or no effort.  I am the kind of woman other women hate, as I have been told many, many times in my life.  Because I'm petite, people tend to assume that I don't have body issues, that I'm comfortable in my own skin.  While almost every woman I know complains about her body issues to her friends, I am not allowed to do this.  In fact, if I say, "I don't like how I look in X,"  I am actually mocked.  I've been told by more than one good friend, "The skinny girl doesn't get to complain."  I, a "skinny" girl,  have some confessions to make. 

• I do have body issues, and I do want to talk about those issues with my friends.  
• Whenever someone says, "You look great, and I only hate you a little bit," my feelings are hurt.  
• "Skinny" girls aren't skinny because we want to make women who aren't "skinny" feel bad.
• Even though I don't diet, I do watch what I eat, and I do eat healthily.  
• I spend as much time thinking about food and my body as you do.
• I think I look awful in a bathing suit, and I'm not thrilled with the state of my abs.
• I don't think I'm skinny enough.

Here is the biggest confession of all:

• I have a skewed body image, as do most "skinny" girls.  Every time someone pays me a genuine compliment (and really, I feel like those are rare as most compliments include the statement "I hate you!" which I am meant to take as a joke), I think to myself, "Really, that person clearly doesn't see what I see. I think I could stand to lose a few pounds, and I really need to do more crunches."

So the next time you tell a "skinny" girl you hate her because of her size, think about how she feels about her own body first.

*I think this will be a series of posts.

The first step

Keeping with my theme, the first thing I need to "let go" is disappointment over certain relationships, namely the one I have with my father.  I could write a lengthy post about my dad, whom I love so very much.  Then I'd end up in tears, and I'd be dwelling on things.  Instead I want to write a few things that I need to remember about my dad that will help me let go of my disappointment about our relationship.

• I am an adult, and I am as  responsible for the state of our relationship as he is.
• My dad is not at the place he thought he'd be in at 64, either financially or in terms of his health.
• My dad comes from a time when the father's primary responsibility was to be the "breadwinner."  For a variety of reasons, he feels like he has fell short in that respect.  Almost everything he does is colored by this belief.
• My dad did not have a good relationship with his own father.
• My dad (who is technically my stepfather) has never lived with children younger than 5 for an extended period of time.  He truly has no idea how to relate to young children.  He also believes children should just do as they are told without question.
• My dad will always rely on my mother to convey things to me; he doesn't want to engage in any sort of emotional exchange because he is afraid I will see him get emotional.
• My dad does the best he can.  Often that isn't enough, but I need to remember that he firmly believes that.

Resolutions

Before we left Home State, Yetta asked me if I had made any resolutions.  Her resolutions are straightforward, she told me: maintain her low-sodium diet (long story, but since she's been on it she's lost over 100 pounds and is much happier and healthier), try not to engage Pita in any arguments (this one will be difficult to keep, I'm betting), and to purge her house of some unnecessary stuff.  I didn't really respond other than to encourage her. 

You see, I'm not really a resolutions sort of person.  I try (emphasis on try) to identify things that need to be changed throughout the year and to work on issues as they come.  Some times I'm successful, sometimes not.  I could type up a whole list of things that I want to work on right now, but I'm not certain I see that as productive.  Profgrrrl identifies a theme that she wants to focus on each year, and I've been thinking about this technique for a while.  I've been trying to pinpoint the biggest issue I feel I have right now.  I have a hard time letting go of the little things; I do not focus on the moment very well.  So I've decided that this will be the year of "letting go."  It is a bit cliche and even a bit cheesy, I know, but I do think it will be helpful to me to remember that "letting go," whether it is bad feelings, something that didn't get done, or things I no longer need, will help me declutter my mind and my life.  That is my goal for this year.

We're home!

Happy New Year, everyone!

We arrived home yesterday after a very early morning flight, a very short layover, and a 2-hour drive.  The children did remarkably well, but then, they tend to travel well as we've done so much of it.  CU Land has approximately 6 inches of snow on the ground.  Wild Man was so excited to see snow that he asked if we could wait to open our Santa presents so he could go play.  As Bear was equally happy to be in his own space, Archer and I agreed.  After playing in the snow for about 45 minutes, Wild Man came inside to get warm and dry.  Then he asked if we could open presents.  He was a bit disappointed we couldn't make homemade pizza for dinner, which is one of our holiday traditions, but we promised him we'd make it one night this week.  He said, "No store bought pizza, Mommy.  We have to make it from scratch!"  All in all, we had a relaxing late-afternoon and evening.

As I steal away a few moments to type this, Bear and Wild Man are "organizing" their new toys.  Our playroom is far from organized, but they are happy.  George is happy to have his things too.  He has spent some quality time in his exer-saucer this morning, and he enjoyed sitting in his high chair last night.  After more than a week sleeping between Archer and me, it will take some work to get him back in  his crib, but I'm not stressing out about anything today.  I'm as happy as my children to be home.

Christmas preparations

We're prepared, or as prepared as we're going to be.  We travel to home state in 2 days.  We're mostly packed.  The packages have been shipped--actually I ordered almost everything online and had it shipped directly there.  The boys know that they will only receive one or two of their Santa gifts while we're there.  Santa is bringing the rest to CU Land.  I've spoken to my mom, and she's done shopping.  Yetta, well, that's another story.  I'm not sure how one expects to get hard to get items when one doesn't start shopping until Dec. 20th.  I could say more, but I won't.  That is all.

There is no such thing. . .

as a worthless human being.  We do not know the details every others' lives.  We don't know their hardships, their struggles, their illnesses.  We don't know what may compel someone to enact acts of violence.  We should concern ourselves with taking care of the survivors and with forgiving.  I'm not usually the sort of person to quote Bible verses, but in light of all the hateful things being said about a boy, (yes, he was a boy himself) who did commit a horrific act of violence that ended the lives of 27 other people and his own I feel compelled to do so. 

"Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven." Luke 6:37

Things I never expected to do. . .

I have done so many things I never thought I do since I became a parent.  That list includes:

• pulling boogers out of my kid's nose
• pulling boogers out of a friend's kid's nose
• wearing a sweater that had a little bit of vomit on it to a meeting
• washing a load of laundry that had a single blanket in it to make my child calm down
• sit up for hours in a steamy bathroom so my kid could breathe
• eat chicken nuggets on a regular basis
• discuss the finer details of Star Wars
• analyze the class divisions in the Cars movies
• stay up till midnight making homemade Valentines for the kids in my child's class

Even before I was a parent, however, if you'd told me I'd do any of the above, I likely would have laughed and said, "Oh, you're probably right!" Now that I've done them, none of those things seem that odd or disgusting.  They are part of my every day life now. I never, ever thought I do what I just did, and I sincerely wish I did not feel compelled to do it.  I just emailed Wild Man's principal to ask what the school's lockdown policies are.  I want to know what they have taught the kids to do in the event a gunman comes into the school.  I want to know that they have a policy in place to protect as many children and teachers as possible should such a horrific, tragic thing ever happen in my child's school.  And I am absolutely sick to my stomach that I feel like Archer and I now have to have a discussion with our children about such an event.

Holidays and gender

I'm up later than I should be completing holiday-oriented tasks.  I've addressed Christmas cards, which I designed and ordered.  I've also done most of the decorating, shopping, and menu-planning.  As I was addressing envelopes, it struck me how much of the holiday is gendered.  Archer decorated the outside, set up the tree, and hung lights.  He has done some shopping with me, and we did discuss what we would buy for the boys.  I bought all the "extra" gifts--for teachers (4 in total), friends, nieces, and nephews.  In fact the only gift Archer has bought entirely on his own is the one we're getting for his mom, and that is because I told him I wasn't doing it.  To be honest, more than half of the stuff I do isn't essential (I mean we didn't have to decorate a gingerbread house last weekend), but it is fun for the boys and helps make the holiday special for them and us.  That said, Archer just wouldn't think of a lot of stuff--like sending Christmas cards or buying gifts for the boys' teachers.  I know that women do the bulk of relationship building, but still I find it frustrating.  When I put the Christmas cards in front of him to sign, he'll ask why we aren't sending cards to about half a dozen or so people.  In the past I've just added them to the list.  This year I'm going to tell him if he wants to send cards to his old friends and family he can address the cards.

Reflecting

I haven't been blogging much, and while part of that is due to the fact that I'm occupied with other tasks, it is also because I'm considering how necessary or relevant this blog is to me.  I began this blog over six years ago, when I was still a grad student and about to have my first child.  In those six years I've used this blog to chart my journey through grad school, motherhood, and the start of my career.  I've used this as a space to journal my thoughts, fears, and development.  I sense that this place will become important to me once I'm no longer on leave, but for now, I'm not feeling the need to journal as much.  I am reveling in the time I have away from academia.  I'm enjoying not having myself fractured into so many pieces.  I may never be able to experience being a stay-at-home mom again, and I have to say that I am embracing that role.  I'm not going to attempt to define what it means to me.  I will just say that I'm finding this blog less important to me right now.  That may change in a few weeks or even a few hours.  But for now, I'm going to stop worrying about posting here.  I'm sure I'll be back, probably even later this week.  But I won't be posting here everyday, and for now, I'm okay with that.